Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns. Barnaby, a scruffy terrier mix, was at it again. This time, he’d bypassed the flimsy fence separating Mrs. Gable’s prize-winning petunias from Arthur’s yard. Arthur, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, slammed his gardening trowel onto the brick patio. “Not today, Barnaby!” he bellowed, striding purposefully toward the canine intruder. His chest puffed slightly, a mix of annoyance and something else, something… stronger.

He spotted the dog, happily sniffing at a particularly vibrant bloom. Arthur took a deep breath, the scent of freshly cut grass filling his lungs. He was ready to face whatever came.

“Barnaby, you mutt, get out of there!” he shouted again, his voice echoing in the otherwise quiet cul-de-sac. He prepared to give chase, his pace a brisk walk to seem less threatening.